Ticket To Ride
by enigma77
Summary: Songs by British people never appealed to her. Unless the person singing them was a certain Canadian. Natalya/Edge


**A/N: Okay, this is for LoveToTheCucumber's contest. I figured I'd give it a try. Also, it's my first Edge and Natalya story so bear with me. I'm broadening my horizon, if you will. It's kind of silly, a little short, and a whole lot of strange, but whatever. It's me trying to be funny but failing miserably. Anyway, I hope you read, review, and enjoy. :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing that is recognizable.**

Ticket To Ride

It all started with a Beatles' song. "Ticket To Ride," to be exact. I will be the first to admit, the '60s greatest British import was never the end all, be all for me. They were just some English musicians with bad teeth and silly hair. Their songs had a very little affect on me also. I only took notice of their stuff when one man, who was unlike any other, started singing.

"She said living with me was bringing her down, yeah," sang a voice from the bar. "She would never be free when I was around, yeah. Oh, she's got a ticket to ride. She's got a ticket to ri-i-ide. She's got a ticket to ride and she don't care."

I turned my head to see who the guy was with the bloodcurdling voice. He was pitchy, not that I had any place to say that, and he sounded terrible.

To my surprise, it was Edge.

Adam Copeland wasn't a guy I usually talked to. Just because we're both Canadians doesn't mean we are going to be best friends. It was actually quite the contrary. We would say hello in passing to each other but that was pretty much it. He was never in awe of my lineage nor did he mock me because I was fairly new to the WWE. He was just there.

So when I saw the guy, a little more than buzzed, singing a blasted Beatles' song, he immediately caught my attention.

I walked over, oblivious to all the other women around him. They were all grabbing at his hair, of all places. _It does look soft_, my thoughts were telling me. But I didn't need to be told. I could see it for myself.

He was just finished singing the rest of the song when I was in front of him. He stumbled down, now off of the counter and looked me in the eyes, which were somewhat bloodshot. "Hey, you're Neidhart," he said in a lazy, drowsy voice.

I nodded. "And you're the 'Rated R Superstar'," I told him.

"Yeah," he said, proud that I recognized him. "You're the 'Anvil's' daughter, right?"

"What other Neidhart is there here?" I wondered aloud.

He laughed a drunken laugh. "That's funny. That's a good one." He fixed his eyes on mine and grabbed hold of a lock of my hair. "Heh, you're blonde, too."

I didn't feel the need to respond to that last statement so I asked him a question. "Was that the Beatles?"

Another dumb chuckle came from him. "Yeah, why?"

"Well, I don't like them that much—" I started.

"Wait, wait, wait. What? I'm sorry," Adam said, his brow furrowed. "I must be wrong. Did you just say that you don't like the Beatles?"

I gave him a strange look. "Uh… Yeah, that's what I said."

"You must be joking."

"I'm not," I said and then continued with my original question. "I know they're supposed to be such a great band and everything, and, even though they're not my cup of tea…"

"How can you not like them?" Adam asked, interrupting me. "They're one of the greatest bands of all time. What are you talking about?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't know why everyone makes such a big deal about them."

"You don't know?" said Adam, either pretending to be appalled or seriously insulted. "Well, I'm gonna help you with that problem, Nat."

While I tried to protest, he paid no attention. He grabbed my wrist and made sure that a Beatles' song was playing within seconds. "You are going to listen to this and you're going to like it."

Right away, the only thing I was able to hear was John Lennon in screaming mode while "Twist and Shout" was playing.

Adam pulled me to where everyone was now dancing and whispered in my ear, "When I'm through with you, this is gonna be you're favorite band."

I wasn't much of a dancer, especially when my partner was an idiotic drunk. But Adam moved as if there was nothing impairing him and he had the most fun out of anyone around him.

I groaned every time he pulled me closer and force me to dance with him while he sang all at the same time in that horrible, scratchy voice.

"Well, shake it up, baby, now. Twist and shout. Come on, come on, come on, baby, now. And work it on out!"

He was smiling and laughing like a buffoon but was having the time of his life. After a short while of him doing this, I had to admit that I was enjoying myself, too.

All of the women who had been at the bar were surrounding him once again. With a wink at them all, he shot me a devilish look and leaned in closer.

When his lips were millimeters from mine, I looked him dead in the eye. "What are you doing?"

"Making these freaks jealous," he answered and his lips came crashing down on mine.

My mind was telling me to shove him away, to push him off, but that wasn't what I was doing. Instead, I was pulling him closer to me, never wanting to let go.

I could hear the women around us gasp from shock. When Adam pulled away, we noticed that the throng of ladies was gone, out of sight.

"Good riddance," Adam murmured. His singing was obviously done and he was looking at me with a hungry expression. I knew one of his earlier gimmicks was a vampire but that didn't give him the right to be staring at me like that.

"What?" I asked, not liking the intensity of his gaze.

"You're kinda pretty," he said. Before I could stop him, he leaned down again and pressed his lips to mine.

This time, I made it my mission to stop him, completely ignoring the way his kiss made my knees weak. "Quit it," I said when I pushed him away.

"No," he nearly growled and came toward me again.

"Cut it out," I said more forcefully.

He pouted. "Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?" he pressed.

"Why did you kiss me?" I shot back.

"'Cause I like you," he answered.

"What?" I asked, unsure if I had heard him correctly.

As patient as a drunk can be, he said calmly, "I like you, Nattie."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Boy, you've must have had a lot to drink tonight. I sure hope you're not driving to your hotel."

"Silly Nattie. I'm Edge; I have all sorts of drivers," he said, strangely ruffling my hair. "Plus, I want you to take me home." There was another peculiar expression that was burning in his eyes. I must have been giving him a weird look, too, because he said, "What? I told you I liked you. And you said I need someone to give me a ride home. It makes perfect sense!"

"You are one bizarre man," I told him and then laughed. "If you liked me, why couldn't you tell me that when you're sober? Or at least half sober?"

He beamed at me. "I'm shyer than I appear, Nattie. Oh, and I know you like me too."

"Oh, really?" I questioned. "How so?"

"Because if you didn't, that first kiss would've ended with me being punched in my mouth. But you wouldn't do that, 'cause you like this mouth."

"Ah…I see. Interesting logic," I complimented. "Do you say that to every girl you kiss?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Only the ones that are from Calgary and wrestle."

I couldn't help but smile. "Hmm, so that makes me the special one?" I asked, somewhat hopeful.

"You better believe it," he said, putting his forehead against mine. "Now, before I start singing again and making a fool of myself, will you please take me back to the hotel?"

"I don't know," I replied. "You're singing may have turned me onto the Beatles. Maybe I want to hear more…"

"Okay, okay. I have an idea," he said hastily. "I will sing whatever song you want me to if you drive me to the hotel."

"Oh, fine. You got a deal."

That was all it took. A couple of Beatles' songs can bring out the best in people. Even if the guy singing them is Canadian, not British, and does a frightening job of it.

**Was it any good? Let me know in a lovely (or not so lovely) review. **


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